


Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines

by Multiple_Universes



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Love at First Sight, M/M, Movie AU, Pining, everyone is a pilot AU, pilot AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:48:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multiple_Universes/pseuds/Multiple_Universes
Summary: Come one! Come all! The Baron and Baroness Nikiforov have announced a race from London to Paris! Bring your aeroplane! Bring your courage and daring! And bring your handsomest pilots!An AU where legendary pilot Victor Nikiforov meets super talented pilot Yuuri Katsuki.





	Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my fic for the Victuuri Big Bang 2018!
> 
> I see all of your car mechanic AUs and I raise you Yuuri I-made-this-biplane-with-my-own-two-hands the pilot, always covered with grease and Victor likes it that way, even if it means that his flawless white suit has to get dirty.
> 
> This fic is very loosely based on the movie "Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines".

Baron and Baroness Nikiforov always took tea in the slightly blue drawing room in the afternoon. The Baron would use this time to discuss a matter in the papers while the Baroness listened politely, waiting for her chance to make a sharp remark.

This time the papers lay forgotten on a corner of the table. The both of them found a different subject occupying their attention: their son Victor Nikiforov.

After a long chorus of “I am done for!” Victor dropped onto the sofa where his head could fall back most fetchingly and where the light of the room would best agree with his pale complexion.

Normally the Baron and Baroness would treat the matter lightly, but not this time. This time matters were serious.

Mr. Nikiforov, a legendary Russian pilot, had gotten into an accident and suffered an injury. Worry not, dear reader, the injury wasn’t fatal, but as a result of it, the doctor forbade him to fly an aeroplane until he recovered and, to the pilot’s great frustration, the recovery wasn’t due for another two months.

“I am like a bird with its wings cut off!” Mr. Nikiforov moaned.

His parents exchanged a look that had more than mere worry in it.

“What we need,” the Baron began and the Baroness nodded at him in encouragement, “is to gather pilots from around the world. We’ll announce a race the likes of which the world had never seen before!”

Mr. Nikiforov gave a frustrated moan and turned his back on his parents to show his opinion of such a thoughtless suggestion.

The Baroness, however, smiled. She understood all too well what the Baron was suggesting. “Yes, of course!” She rose to her feet and walked over to her son. “You will preside over the race to make sure that there is no foul play.” She brushed his hair gently to one side with her fingers. “It will be as if you are flying with them. Think on it: you will get to meet so many new people!”

Mr. Nikiforov, despite being seven-and-twenty, enjoyed being at the centre of attention. He let them coax him into agreeing for a good hour or so before he smiled at his mother and promised to talk to every pilot who signed up for the race.

Two weeks later he found himself regretting this promise.

 

Mr. Nikiforov walked through a field packed with all manner of aeroplanes imaginable, the very image of elegance. He was dressed in a suit he had made especially for the occasion. All the pilots turned at the sight of him and greeted him, getting a small nod of the head in return.

Why were there so many pilots here? How did the world hold so many of them? Well over two hundred of them had signed up for the race, giving him very little time to speak with each of them.

He had to tread carefully through the field to avoid getting stains on his white shoes and stopped as he approached another aeroplane to admire its design. He had seen some oddly-shaped contraptions that morning, but this was the first one he laid eyes on that promised to take to the skies. It had two wings made of a canvas stretched over a framework of wood, a tail with both a vertical and horizontal bit as well as a propeller at the front.

He lowered his eyes and saw a figure hiding under the engine, no doubt carrying out some sort of repair work.

“Hello?” he called.

The pilot slid out from under the aeroplane and stared up at him in silence. “Ah!” he exclaimed as if he’d seen something dreadful and jumped to his feet. “V-Victor Nikiforov!” he said and bowed. “Hello! It’s an honour to meet you!”

He was supposed to say something polite in return, but he found his eyes fixed on the pilot instead. As the man straightened up Mr. Nikiforov took in the jet-black hair, the handsome face and the dark brown pilot’s costume that did an excellent job of flattering his figure. There were spots on the man’s face and costume – no doubt grease from the engine, but that did not trouble Mr. Nikiforov in the slightest.

He stepped up to the pilot, lowering the white parasol he’d held over his head and took a snow white handkerchief from the pocket of his white suit. “Here,” he offered it and, not bothering to wait for the pilot to say anything, he wiped the man’s face clean. “And what is your name?” he asked.

“Yuuri Katsuki,” the man stammered out, the blood rising to his face and neck.

“What a beautiful name!” he exclaimed and then felt a touch of embarrassment. He raised the handkerchief to his own face, forgetting about the stains on it and gave Mr. Katsuki a shy look. “I am Victor Nikiforov,” he told him, forgetting that the pilot already knew who he was.

Mr. Katsuki nodded, his face still red.

“My parents organized this race,” he said, continuing to tell the young man what he already knew. “I had no idea we would get so many pilots! Where are you from?”

“The city of Hasetsu,” the pilot answered and then, perhaps realizing that the name was not enough, added, “in Japan.”

“You travelled this far for a mere race?” Mr. Nikiforov asked, eyes going wide.

“Yuuri!” a happy voice cut into their conversation and Mr. Katsuki’s face fell. “Yuuri!”

Mr. Nikiforov turned. The person doing all the shouting was a happy-looking young woman. She was in a long dress, one end of which she raised with her right hand to keep out of her way as she rushed to join them.

“Look at this!” she exclaimed as soon as she reached them. She turned on the spot to allow the two men a good view of her attire. “And the hat!” she added, hands rising to grip its wide brim.

Finally she noticed that Mr. Katsuki had a visitor and gave a formal bow. “Good morning, sir!”

Mr. Nikiforov’s heart fell as he took both of them in together and at ease with one another. “Mrs. Katsuki, I presume?” he said, holding his hand out and doing his best to keep a smile on his face. “I am Victor –”

“Mrs. Katsuki?” she repeated and gave Mr. Katsuki a puzzled look.

“– Nikiforov.”

“My name is –” she began, but then the meaning of his words sank in and she gave him a scrutinizing look. “Victor Nikiforov?”

“Yes?”

“Ah!” she exclaimed and took his offered hand and waved it enthusiastically. “Yes! Of course! How did I not recognize you? Yuuri admires you very much!”

Mr. Nikiforov did his best to look pleased about this, knowing that this was all he would get from the handsome, but – alas – married pilot.

“Really, I… I…” Mr. Katsuki stammered, but the task of finishing a sentence proved too great for him.

Mr. Nikiforov sighed and clutched his handkerchief to his heart. “I look forward to watching you compete,” he promised.

Mr. Katsuki nodded.

It was time to go. With a great deal of effort Mr. Nikiforov tore himself away and left, turning around several times to wave at Mr. Katsuki.

 

Mr. Katsuki watched with a mixture of worry and amazement as the world’s most famous pilot walked away with a handkerchief covered in grease pressed to his chest and then to his cheek. And, yet, his face and suit remained as clean as ever.

“Oh, Yuuri,” his friend said.

A faint blush appeared on his cheeks. “What is it?”

She laughed. “It is nothing. Have you finished repairing the engine?”

“Yes,” he answered, his eyes still on a white shape in the distance.

“Excellent! So are you ready for tomorrow now?”

He gave her a look full of alarm. “No! Not at all!”

She watched him rush back to fuss over the aeroplane, fixing this and that, and shook her head.

Mr. Katsuki was a capable pilot. He could feel his machine respond to every change in the wind. He knew how to navigate a strong gust. He had, after all, flown for a small portion of his journey to London without a single accident.

Mr. Katsuki’s friend (no, no, this was not his wife as poor, heartbroken Victor Nikiforov thought) had come with him, eager to see other pilots and to watch the race. Her name was Minako Okukawa, which Mr. Nikiforov would’ve also found beautiful if only he’d insisted on hearing it.

While Mr. Katsuki worked away she cast a look at her surroundings, smiling to herself that she’d been mistaken for Mr. Katsuki’s wife.

She considered keeping up the pretence and mentally toyed with the idea until that evening when the Baron and Baroness hosted a ball to celebrate the upcoming race.

 

Ms. Okukawa was at Mr. Katsuki’s side as they ascended the staircase into the residence of the Nikiforovs. Servants directed them towards a great hall, packed almost to bursting with pilots from around the world. The sounds of dozens of languages filled the air, mixing together into a new language.

Each time someone approached them Ms. Okukawa and Mr. Katsuki would bow in greeting. Ms. Okukawa studied the crowd with great interest, as if searching for someone. She was eager to see everyone and everything at the ball.

“Good evening,” a voice purred next to her ear.

She spun on the spot to return the greeting and her words got caught in her throat. The man before her was in an immaculate suit with a hat to match. He had that confident air that many mistake for charm and a smile tugged at his lips.

Ms. Okukawa felt the blood rise to her face, but her smile barely faltered.

“Christophe Giacometti,” the man introduced himself and kissed Ms. Okukawa’s hand. “I have heard all about you two. Mr. Katsuki left quite the impression!”

“I… I did?” Mr. Katsuki stammered out, feeling very embarrassed.

“An impression on Victor Nikiforov, of course,” Mr. Giacometti explained. “He is a close friend of mine. He spoke a great deal about Mr. Katsuki and…” the man gave Ms. Okukawa a curious look, “Mrs. Katsuki, of course.”

Ms. Okukawa laughed. “Oh no!” she protested. “He has the wrong idea entirely! I am not married and certainly not to Yuuri!”

Mr. Katsuki wondered what to make of such a remark.

“You must be his sister, then,” Mr. Giacometti corrected himself, making yet another mistake.

“Merely an old friend,” Ms. Okukawa said and Mr. Giacometti apologized repeatedly.

Mr. Katsuki listened to them exchange pleasantries and enjoy several merry anecdotes and suppressed a sigh. Now it was his turn to hunt through the crowd with his eyes. Some time passed before he spotted Mr. Nikiforov at long last. The pilot was at the other side of the hall, dressed all in white as before.

Their eyes met across the room and they forgot about the world around them, losing themselves in that moment.

A tall man got between them, followed by another five people of equal height. Women with big hats walked on, ignorant of how a simple walk was hurting two people.

Mr. Nikiforov hurried from his spot, eager to join Mr. Katsuki’s side. Mr. Katsuki rushed towards him, forgetting all about his friend as well as his new acquaintance.

The crowd, as thick as ever, was like a sea of people and very hard to navigate. Nevertheless, the two men met in the middle of it.

“Good evening,” Mr. Nikiforov said softly, but still Mr. Katsuki heard him.

He smiled. “Good evening,” he repeated and offered up his arm.

Mr. Nikiforov, forgetting completely about the woman he thought was Mrs. Katsuki, took it, his heart overflowing with joy.

They made for the closest door without thinking, both filled with a sudden desire to be as far away from everyone else as possible.

Outside a warm night greeted them. A full moon shone in the dark sky and the air was full of the smell of dozens of flowers blooming.

What did they talk about on their walk through the grounds? Rather simple things, really – what a pleasant night it was, how clear and star-filled the sky was overhead and how big the moon looked.

Mr. Nikiforov, without realizing it, did then exactly what his parents hoped he would: he fell in love with one of their guests.

 

The Baron and Baroness, not knowing that their plan to find someone for their son worked so well, were beside themselves with worry.

“I do not see him anywhere,” the Baroness remarked. She summoned a maid and gave the order in a whisper that her son was to be found as quickly as possible and with very little fuss. That done, she stepped out onto a little balcony overlooking the hall below.

A hush fell over all of her visitors.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she began. “It is my great pleasure to welcome you here…” The speech went on for some time about the race, her son’s accomplishments and what a great many pilots arrived here.

Everyone listened politely to every word.

 

Outside Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Katsuki sat side by side under a big oak tree and sighed.

A nightingale landed on a branch over their heads and sang. They listened to him as if they were at an opera listening to a singer perform. Soon both of them became convinced that everything they ever wanted to say to each other was in the bird’s song.

Mr. Katsuki held Mr. Nikiforov’s gloved hands in both of his as he looked into his eyes.

The song was so sweet and gentle that Mr. Katsuki found himself giving Mr. Nikiforov’s hands a light squeeze.

“Do your injuries trouble you greatly?” he whispered.

In his confused state Mr. Nikiforov heard a different question and whispered, “Yes.”

“I am so sorry. If only I could do something to ease your suffering.”

Mr. Nikiforov puzzled over those words. Perhaps, he thought, Mr. Katsuki could see his feelings written on his face and was apologizing for being married to someone else.

The memory of Mrs. Katsuki made Mr. Nikiforov pull his hands out of Mr. Katsuki’s warm hold. “You… you should…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, feeling fascinated by Mr. Katsuki’s eyes.

“What?” Mr. Katsuki asked, moving closer.

Mr. Nikiforov moved closer even as everything inside him protested at this. Here was a married man – a very charming one, certainly – but a married one nonetheless.

They were so close now he was sure he could see every star in the man’s dark eyes. He could count them, if he was so inclined.

Mr. Katsuki raised his hand and pressed it lightly against Mr. Nikiforov’s cheek.

“Master Victor!” a loud voice called out and the two pilots jumped apart hastily.

“There you are, Master Victor!” a maid exclaimed, rushing up to them. “Your mother sent me to look for you.”

Mr. Nikiforov turned his head to hide the frustration on his face.

“Forgive me. It is my fault,” Mr. Katsuki declared. He rose to his feet.

His companion raised two sad eyes up at him.

Mr. Katsuki held out his hands and helped the man up to his feet. Seeing the man wince in pain, Mr. Katsuki picked him up in his arms.

“Your injuries will never heal, if you overtax your strength,” Mr. Katsuki told him.

Mr. Nikiforov put his arms around the man’s neck and buried his face in one of his strong shoulders. His injuries were really no trouble at all, but how could he protest when such a handsome and kind pilot insisted on carrying him?

This was how they returned to the great hall: Mr. Nikiforov in Mr. Katsuki’s arms with the maid in toe.

“…and I speak for all of us when I say…” the Baroness went silent at the sight of her son carried in by another man. Then she smiled and in a voice that was livelier than before added, “Welcome!”

Mr. Nikiforov was suffering greatly and so, of course, the kind Mr. Katsuki had to carry him all the way to the door of his chamber where he lowered him with great care.

“Good night,” Mr. Nikiforov whispered. “Sleep well. You have a big race tomorrow.”

Mr. Katsuki nodded.

“I will cheer for you with all my heart,” Mr. Nikiforov promised, eyes on the floor at his feet and then on Mr. Katsuki’s face once more.

Still Mr. Katsuki stayed, as if waiting for something.

The Baroness came down the hall, an expression of great joy on her face. “Dear Mr. Katsuki,” she said to her guest, “you have done my family a great service and I would be very much obliged if you were to stay the night here.”

Politeness forced Mr. Katsuki to refuse, but the Baroness wouldn’t hear of it. And, so, he had to accept one of the rooms in the house for himself and another for Ms. Okukawa and then give his word that he would join his hosts for breakfast.

 

Mr. Nikiforov, excited both by the idea of sleeping in the same house as Mr. Katsuki as well as the promise of breakfast together, couldn’t sleep a single minute. He sat by the window, looking out at the moon with his loyal dog Makkachin sleeping on the floor at his feet.

After the sun rose he spent the better part of an hour before a mirror until he was satisfied with his appearance.

Breakfast was full of sighs and longing looks exchanged between Mr. Nikiforov and Mr. Katsuki while the Baroness told Ms. Okukawa about the preparations for the upcoming race.

“You must promise to visit us after the race,” the Baroness insisted, turning to Mr. Katsuki at last.

Mr. Nikiforov, who’d missed most of the conversation until that point as well as Ms. Okukawa’ name, gave Mr. Katsuki a hopeful look.

“If it won’t inconvenience you.”

“Nothing would please me more,” the Baroness assured him. In her mind the woman was already planning the wedding between her guest and her son. Naturally, this meant that she was more than happy to arrange for the two of them to get some time alone together after breakfast.

 

Races! What a great way to pass the time! What a wonderful occasion to see all manner of things – fashionable people from around the world, exciting bets (as well as all the sadness afterwards), thrilling finishes and of course a big happy crowd, eager to cheer the winner on.

This race had all of those, to be sure, but it was among the very few to come with a field filled with a great many flying contraptions of all shapes and sizes. The sight of some would make people exclaim “surely that will not fly!” (and, indeed, some were completely incapable of flight).

Mr. Leroy of the Dominion of Canada, for example, had the largest and loudest contraption of them all with his name painted in large letters on the wings for all the world to see. Mr. Plisetsky of the Russian Empire, on the other hand, had a small aeroplane that had something waspish about its appearance.

The two pilots were deep in an argument about something when Mr. Nikiforov walked past them, leaning on Mr. Katsuki’s arm.

Mr. Plisetsky cut his words short and strode after Mr. Nikiforov.

This young man had been Mr. Nikiforov’s friend for several years and, although he would have preferred to die before admitting as much, it frustrated him to no end to see that Mr. Nikiforov paid him very little attention now.

He had no words planned for what he would say to Mr. Nikiforov, which was why as soon as he caught up with the two pilots he remained silent, waiting for the words to come.

Mr. Nikiforov pressed a tender kiss to Mr. Katsuki’s hand. “I wish you the best of luck,” he said.

“Thank you.” Mr. Katsuki’s tone was soft as if there was more behind his words.

The thought crossed Mr. Plisetsky’s mind that, perhaps, he had made a mistake in following the two pilots when a voice called out, “Yuuri!”

Mr. Plisetsky and Mr. Katsuki turned with a start. Mr. Plisetsky wondered who was rude enough to call out his name in such a way (after all, both men had the same name, but how was he to know that?).

A young woman appeared, the very same young woman who was travelling with Mr. Katsuki.

Mr. Nikiforov stepped away, as if Mr. Katsuki’s touch had burned him.

“Yuuri!” Ms. Okukawa called out a second time. “May you win the race!”

“Win?” Mr. Katsuki blushed and then threw a fearful look at Mr. Plisetsky.

Mr. Plisetsky pursed his lips and walked back to his aeroplane with determination in his step.

A wind picked up, playing with the folds of Mr. Nikiforov’s coat as Mr. Katsuki prepared to climb into his aeroplane.

The climb was always a little tricky and required a great deal of balance. Seeing him hesitate before going, Mr. Nikiforov ran to his side, forgetting once again about the woman he thought was his wife. He held out his hand and smiled invitingly.

Mr. Katsuki took it and climbed up and into his aeroplane. He gave Mr. Nikiforov a grateful nod and settled into his seat.

Around him all the other pilots were climbing into their flying machines, getting ready to go.

Mr. Nikiforov remembered then about Mr. Katsuki’s companion. “You are very lucky,” he told Ms. Okukawa, “Mr. Katsuki must make an excellent husband.”

Ms. Okukawa laughed. “I have no doubt that one day he will make someone a very good husband.” She saw the expression of confusion on Mr. Nikiforov’s face and added, “Once he finally marries someone.”

There must have been some fault with Mr. Nikiforov’s ears because he misunderstood Ms. Okukawa’s words completely. “Forgive me,” he said with a bow, “I had assumed that you two were already married.” His voice trembled. “When is the wedding?”

She gave him a coy look. “Never, I should think.”

“I am sorry?”

She smiled wider and watched Mr. Katsuki prepare for the race. “Yuuri and I are not engaged. We never were. I am an old friend of his and nothing more. When he heard that I wished to see England and France he agreed to let me come with him.”

Mr. Nikiforov beamed with joy. Mr. Katsuki had no wife! He barely understood the rest of Ms. Okukawa’s words. Then, unable to contain his joy any longer, he made a dash for Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane. Forgetting all about his injuries, he climbed up.

Mr. Katsuki turned and gave him a look of surprise.

A sharp pain tore through Mr. Nikiforov’s shoulder and he froze as all the blood drained from his face.

“Victor!” Mr. Katsuki called out, jumping over to him.

“I… I am quite alright,” Mr. Nikiforov lied, clutching at his shoulder. “I…” he began, but the pain overwhelmed him and he lost consciousness.

Mr. Katsuki caught him before he could fall and injure himself further as Ms. Okukawa hurried away to fetch help.

 

Mr. Nikiforov opened his eyes with a sigh to discover that he lay on the bed in his room. He could hear the doctor speaking with his parents, but he spared them no thought: Mr. Katsuki was leaning over him with an expression of worry on his face.

“You called me Victor,” Mr. Nikiforov remembered.

The young pilot blushed. “Forgive me.”

“No, no, I want you to call me Victor,” he insisted. “May I call you Yuuri?”

“Yes, of course,” Mr. Katsuki said.

The Baron and Baroness joined them and asked their son about his well-being.

“We need to…” Mr. Nikiforov sat up, “I need to oversee the race.” No one dared to argue, not when Mr. Nikiforov leant on Mr. Katsuki’s arms for support and asked to be taken to the race. “The pilots must be getting impatient,” he went on. “They can’t be kept waiting any longer.”

Mr. Katsuki looked into Mr. Nikiforov’s face. “Is your pain really all gone?”

“It is,” Mr. Nikiforov assured him.

“I’m glad.” He led Mr. Nikiforov back outside into the field to the place where his aeroplane waited for him.

“Take care of yourself,” Mr. Katsuki said, raising both of Mr. Nikiforov’s hands to his face to plant a kiss on each.

Mr. Nikiforov considered dropping into Mr. Katsuki’s arms a second time, but then it occurred to him that this would only make everyone think he was unfit to even observe the race. Instead, he kissed Mr. Katsuki’s hands in return and watched the man climb back into his aeroplane.

With a heavy sigh, he left for the place his parents had prepared for him. There was a little pavilion with chairs and a table, but he cared very little for all the food and drinks laid out on the table. He lowered himself into a chair, raised a little telescope to his eye, found Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane and raised his handkerchief.

A shot rang out in response, signaling the start of the race.

The first stage of the race was from London to Dover where pilots would rest before their long flight over the English Channel.

As the pilots took to the skies one by one (some with more success than others) the Baron and Baroness joined their son.

“Mr. Katsuki is a very charming man,” the Baroness said.

“Yes, he is,” Mr. Nikiforov agreed.

“And to think, if it had not been for this race, you might have never gotten the chance to meet!” the Baron observed with a laugh

His wife threw him a stern look, but, unfortunately, it remained unobserved.

Mr. Nikiforov agreed that this was very true indeed.

“I do believe that we can already say that the race is a big success,” the Baron went on and gave his wife a fond look.

She remained silent.

Again, Mr. Nikiforov’s fanciful nature made him hear words, which were not there. He saw the meaningful looks his parents gave each other and tried to understand them.

The point of the race was not to find the best pilot, he realized. It was for him to fall in love with one of the pilots. No, it was more than that. He raised his handkerchief to his heart. His parents were going to give him away to the winner of the race!

He watched Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane take to the skies and rose from his chair, his heart beating fast.

There was little point in waiting for anything now. He rushed to the automobile that would take him to the finish line. His chauffeur had instructions to go as fast as he could, so Mr. Nikiforov got into the automobile without saying a word.

 

What can compare to the thrill of flying, when there are only several thousand pounds of wood and an unreliable engine between you and certain death? What can be better than the feeling that you had won because of something you had made with your own two hands? What can be better than true freedom?

Mr. Katsuki drifted through the sky with an expression of deep concentration on his face. His brows were furrowed as he did his best to focus on his flight.

Mr. Nikiforov’s pale face appeared in his imagination and his mind turned to worrying about the man’s well-being. Was it possible that the pilot’s illness was worse than he thought? Had he over-taxed his strength the night before?

A strong gust of wind tossed the aeroplane to one side like a child tosses their playthings, startling Mr. Katsuki out of his thoughts. He struggled to remain in the air.

The skies around him were full of flying machines. Several of them tumbled down and hit the ground. Fear and panic filled the air as well as the thrill that came with the threat of death.

Mr. Katsuki had spent hours watching birds in flight and made modifications to his aeroplane so that he could imitate them when he took to the skies himself. He tugged on the tail to counter the sudden gust.

A glance to his side showed him a young pilot with long blond hair overtaking him with a serious expression on his face, but he had other things to worry about.

The wind died away and the clouds parted to admit the sun.

It was a long journey and a tiring one too. As time went by more people dropped out of the race. How many would make it through the preliminary portion?

When the blue stripe of the English Channel appeared up ahead Mr. Katsuki spotted the big crowd that had gathered to watch the race.

Two tall poles supported a big white banner that bore the label “Finish Line”. Two men stood by it. One had a pocket watch in his hand and read out the time to the man by his side as each aeroplane flew over his head and the man noted his words down.

Mr. Katsuki sped up and flew over the finish line. Now he needed somewhere to land.

 

As soon as Mr. Katsuki completed his landing and climbed out of his aeroplane he spotted Mr. Nikiforov rush towards him across the field. It was easy to recognize the figure all in white even from where he was.

“Yuuri!” he called out, walking as quickly as he could without running.

Mr. Katsuki ran towards him. He caught Mr. Nikiforov in his arms and held him, taking care to avoid his injured shoulder.

“Promise me you will win the race,” Mr. Nikiforov whispered, catching Mr. Katsuki by surprise.

“Why…” He cleared his throat. “I will do my best to win, of course, but –”

“Promise,” Mr. Nikiforov insisted.

Seeing how much the promise meant to Mr. Nikiforov, Mr. Katsuki gave his word. “I promise,” he said solemnly as if giving an oath. “I promise to win the race.”

Mr. Nikiforov gave a sigh of relief.

 

At Dover the contestants were given a chance to rest and fix up their aeroplanes. Most contestants used this opportunity to visit the beaches.

A dozen wooden change booths lined the shore. Mr. Nikiforov stepped out of one, dressed in a striped swimsuit. Mr. Katsuki came out of the next one over also in a swimsuit, stepping out almost in time with Mr. Nikiforov. They took a moment to admire each other, doing their best to smile and look as handsome as they could, all while not realizing that the other person was doing the same.

Finally Mr. Katsuki offered his arm and Mr. Nikiforov leaned against it, letting Mr. Katsuki lead the way wherever he liked.

They walked along the shore, forgetting all about their intention to go for a swim. Mr. Nikiforov shielded them both from the sun with his parasol, resting his head on Mr. Katsuki’s shoulder.

Neither man said a word, however both of them sighed a great deal, convinced that the sighs were excellent substitutes for words.

A wind picked up and tried to tear the parasol out of Mr. Nikiforov’s hands. They fought with it until they managed to close the parasol at last.

“Promise me you will take care of yourself,” Mr. Nikiforov whispered, his face close to that of Mr. Katsuki. “You must take great care over the English Channel.”

Mr. Katsuki nodded.

“I will wait for you in Calais,” Mr. Nikiforov promised, lowering his head.

A heavy silence followed those words as if the two lovers were about to part for all eternity.

There were words that needed to be said at a time like this. Mr. Katsuki felt this instinctively, but the words refused to come to him.

“Shall we go for a swim?” Mr. Nikiforov offered with a smile on his lips.

The water was cold and unpleasant, but that mattered very little to both pilots. They remained close to one another and exchanged many admiring glances.

When night came neither man could sleep. They sat up by the light of a candle and thought of the swim and the long walk that had followed.

 

The morning found Mr. Katsuki asleep by the window with the candle burned all the way down to the end. A gentle breeze from the window played with the locks of his hair. His head rested on his arms and a happy smile illuminated his face.

“Yuuri,” Ms. Okukawa called softly, tiptoeing into the room. She had heard how late Mr. Katsuki stayed with Mr. Nikiforov the night before and, knowing Mr. Katsuki’s habit of sleeping late, decided to make sure he didn’t miss breakfast.

“Victor…” he whispered.

Ms. Okukawa was not the sort of woman to shout about scandals at the merest hint of one, but she enjoyed teasing her friend a great deal and so this was why she exclaimed, “Mr. Nikiforov is here? Did he spend the night in your room?”

Mr. Katsuki sat up in his spot. “What?” he exclaimed in return. All the blood rushed to his face as he realized what had been said.

Ms. Okukawa pretended to look around for Mr. Nikiforov and laughed at the mortified expression on her friend’s face. “Did you forget about the race, Yuuri?” she asked, dropping her search.

He struggled up to his feet under her amused stare and protested that he remembered about the race, of course. How could he possibly forget?

Wishing him good luck, she left him on his own, pleased with the results of her work.

Ten minutes later Mr. Katsuki arrived in the breakfast room on the first floor, dressed and ready to compete.

The inns of Dover all filled to the brim with pilots participating in the race. There was not a single empty spot available and the innkeepers had no choice but to turn many travellers away with several apologies. Mr. Nikiforov had gone to great lengths to arrange for Mr. Katsuki to stay at the same inn as him.

They took breakfast together, sitting at a table by a window overlooking the sea.

Ms. Okukawa sat with the Baron and Baroness, who had invited her to their table. The three of them were engaged in a very pleasant discussion, casting discreet glances at the two lovers who sat in complete silence. All three knew what thought was uppermost in all of their minds and, yet, they made a show of being interested in their conversation.

“Dover is very pleasant at this time of the year,” the Baroness told Ms. Okukawa as both women noted the way Mr. Nikiforov passed the sugar tongs to Mr. Katsuki, how their fingers touched and how they both blushed in unison.

“It truly is!” Ms. Okukawa nodded in agreement.

Mr. Nikiforov dropped his handkerchief as if by accident and Mr. Katsuki got out of his chair to pick it up.

“Very pleasant,” the Baron agreed.

Mr. Katsuki, still perched on one knee, held the handkerchief out to Mr. Nikiforov and their fingers closed around each other.

“Most pleasant,” the Baroness added.

“I wish I could fly with you,” Mr. Nikiforov admitted.

Mr. Katsuki gave a little nod of his head. He, too, would have given a great deal for a chance to fly with Mr. Nikiforov. “When your injuries heal,” he said so softly that Mr. Nikiforov had to lean closer to hear him, “I will take you anywhere you like.”

What words could describe how happily Mr. Nikiforov’s heart beat at the sound of that promise? How could anyone hope to explain how they both smiled at each other before both turning a deep red in embarrassment?

At the next table the Baroness shot the Baron a triumphant look and remarked once again how pleasant Dover was at this time of year.

Ms. Okukawa raised her teacup to her lips to hide the smile on her face. Perhaps she would be returning to Japan all alone, she thought.

 

When Mr. Katsuki left the inn and made for his aeroplane with Mr. Nikiforov still at his side his heart sang with the joy that the future was sure to bring. He forgot all about the perils that awaited him in the sky and down below. He even forgot that the purpose of a race was to win and saw it only as a task that needed to be done before he and Mr. Nikiforov could be together once more.

 

The journey over the English Channel is wrought with many dangers for ships and aircraft alike. One sudden gust of wind, one towering wave and the traveller is sent to an early grave deep beneath the waves. How many souls had the storms claimed? How many sailors never returned from the sea?

The pilots were all well aware of these dangers and none of them had backed down or pulled out of the race. Some pilots, like Ms. Mila Babicheva and Ms. Sara Crispino, placed little bets on which of the two of them would make it to Calais first. Hearing about this, many pilots bet on their own success, despite the dangers they were about to face.

All bets made and the final checks complete, they were sent on their way.

Nature itself seemed to be on their side at the start: there was the slightest hint of a breeze and the sun shone brightly in the sky. The waters of the Channel were calm.

Mr. Katsuki narrowed his eyes and watched his surroundings. Were the seagulls flying too low? Was there the hint of a coming storm? But, no, everything remained much the same.

Still all manner of worries troubled him. The weather was too calm. Surely there was a storm brewing on the horizon! He urged his aeroplane on, determined to get to Calais before everyone else and before the storm would strike.

A sound made him turn his head. There was a tear on his right wing! It was small. He could still fly with it, he told himself.

Mr. Katsuki threw another glance back at it. The tear was bigger now, he was sure of it.

He imagined then what fate awaited an aeroplane with one torn wing. The wings he had taken so much time to build were made from a canvas stretched over a wooden frame, but with the canvas torn there would be little the frame could do to keep him airborne.

He had no choice but to fix the wing right away.

How could he do it? There was no place nearby for him to land (that is to say nothing of all the time he would lose if he made a stop for repairs). This part of the Channel was entirely devoid of islands big and flat enough for him to attempt to land on them.

All he could do was set the aeroplane on a level flight and hope that no sudden gust of wind would upset it. As for how he would do the repairs…

Mr. Katsuki rummaged in his things until he found a needle and some thread – the best possible remedy for a tear. Armed with both, he climbed out of his seat and moved carefully towards the wing.

He had to keep to the wing as much as possible, letting its shape shield him from the wind so it would not carry him off, but also to avoid upsetting the symmetry of the aeroplane too much.

It was so far down to the cold waters of the Channel. All it took was one gust, one misstep and he would be sent hurtling to his death.

Fear shook him. He felt sweat trickle down his brow. His hand slipped and he grabbed tighter with his other hand, pulling himself up and feeling the aeroplane tip sideways.

It was over. He closed his eyes.

The image of Mr. Nikiforov appeared to him then and he fought down his fear.

The aeroplane was starting to descend.

He stuck the needle with the thread into the canvas. His hand moved fast as he worked away. He knew that a crooked seam would make little difference as long as it held the ends together.

He was still descending. He did not dare look how far down it was to the water now. All he could do was hope he would finish in time.

One more stitch. There!

He tucked the needle into the stitches and returned to his seat.

The waters were no more than ten feet away now.

He raised the ends of the tail and took to the skies once more.

Safe! Safe at last! He let out a sigh of relief and remembered that he still had a long way to go before he would reach Calais and that there was still his promise to Mr. Nikiforov to keep about winning the race. It may have been a rash promise, but he was set on doing his best to keep it. If Mr. Nikiforov had asked him to win, then he absolutely had to.

The coast of France appeared on the horizon. He urged his aeroplane on.

A sound made him turn his head and he saw another aeroplane take the lead from him. A young pilot sat inside it with long blond hair peeking out from under his hat. The rest of his features were obscured by his clothes, but Mr. Katsuki felt certain he had seen the man before.

Every minute brought them closer to the shore and the end of the second leg of the race.

A gust picked up, threatening to throw both aeroplanes out of the skies and Mr. Katsuki worked hard to keep going. He leant into the wind as much as its direction allowed and let it carry him onwards.

The coast was almost beneath them now. A crowd of spectators gathered, seemingly forgetting that the racers would need a place to land.

The finish line flapped in the breeze. Mr. Nikiforov stood there himself, recording the time for each racer.

The young racer crossed the line first, Mr. Katsuki second and small portion of the racers followed.

By a great stroke of luck and thanks, in part, to careful planning, a ship was able to collect all the unlucky pilots whose aeroplanes did not make the crossing.

That evening Mr. Nikiforov went around thanking everyone, including the captain of the rescue ship.

 

Mr. Katsuki sat up in his room and worried. Was Mr. Nikiforov upset with him? Did he lose faith in Mr. Katsuki’s abilities to win the race? The man had many tasks to preoccupy his attention, it was true, but Mr. Katsuki was convinced that he was also avoiding him.

A knock made him turn away from the window. “Come in,” he called and prepared himself for Ms. Okukawa’s usual chatter.

Instead, Mr. Nikiforov entered with an apology on his lips, but Mr. Katsuki barely heard a word of it.

He rose from his chair and rushed over to his visitor, a happy smile on his face. He greeted him as if there had been no doubt in his mind that he would come.

“You must be tired,” he realized. “Would you like me to order tea, or, perhaps, something else?”

Mr. Nikiforov took both of his hands. “I wished to speak with you, but I kept getting called away. I cannot imagine what you must think of me!”

Mr. Katsuki offered his place in the armchair by the window. “There is really no need to apologize,” he assured his visitor. “Perhaps you would like some water?”

“No,” Mr. Nikiforov gave a slight shake of his head. “Let me gaze upon you a while.” He still held Mr. Katsuki’s hands with both of his.

Mr. Katsuki lowered his eyes in embarrassment.

“I wished to tell you…” Mr. Nikiforov began with every intention of finishing, “that…” but fatigue caught him mid-sentence. His tired body, no doubt comforted by the softness of the chair, the warmth of the evening and the proximity of Mr. Katsuki, drifted away to the land of dreams.

For a while Mr. Katsuki stood still, afraid to disturb his guest. Then, unable to help himself, he reached down and brushed his hair lightly aside to press a kiss to the man’s forehead.

Mr. Nikiforov slept on.

Realizing that the man was prepared to spend the night in his armchair, Mr. Katsuki freed his hands gently. He returned to the door and turned the key in the lock. Next he gathered all the spare blankets in the room and covered his visitor with them. He found a pillow and placed it under the head of Mr. Nikiforov.

All that done, Mr. Katsuki settled down for a night of sleep himself.

 

_His aeroplane flew over the Atlantic Ocean with no land in sight. Hour after hour passed and still there was nothing: no small island, no continent and no promise of rest._

_His fuel levels were getting low. He was certain that any minute now…_

_The engine spluttered and stopped making its deafening noise. The air filled with a bone-chilling silence._

_Contrary to all laws of motion, the aeroplane plummeted out of the sky, taking Mr. Katsuki with it._

_A scream of terror escaped his lips as the cold water came up to meet him…_

“Yuuri! Yuuri!” someone exclaimed, shaking him awake.

He opened his eyes and stared up into Mr. Nikiforov’s worried face. “You were screaming in your sleep,” Mr. Nikiforov told him.

“Oh! I… I…” Mr. Katsuki stammered out, sitting up. “I had a bad dream,” he admitted and felt immediately embarrassed of such a trivial reason for frightening the other man.

“I was worried you were in pain,” Mr. Nikiforov said, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

Mr. Katsuki took both of his hands in his own. “Please forgive me for waking you.”

Mr. Nikiforov shook his head. “I am the one who should apologize. I had come to speak with you, but instead I fell asleep in your room.”

“You are always welcome to sleep in my room,” Mr. Katsuki told him and pulled the blanket up to his face as he realized what he had said.

“Oh my!” Mr. Nikiforov exclaimed and leaned forward with a smile. “Will you insist I stay further?”

Poor Mr. Katsuki did not know where to put his face at the sound of that question.

Mr. Nikiforov rose with a smile. “I think I would like to stay here for the night. That armchair is much more comfortable than my bed and it offers an excellent view.”

Mr. Katsuki then remembered that he was only in his nightshirt. He dared not argue with Mr. Nikiforov and watched instead as the man settled back in his chair.

Mr. Nikiforov did his best to supress his embarrassment at his own behaviour. He knew such shocking conduct was unbecoming of a man of his lineage, but he found to his own surprise that he rather enjoyed the sight of Mr. Katsuki blushing. When Mr. Katsuki’s cheeks glowed red in the pale moonlight his already very handsome face became even more beautiful.

He rose from his armchair, taking on of the blankets with him and added it to the blankets covering Mr. Katsuki. “The night is cold,” he whispered and watched his lover’s reaction.

 _You must win,_ Mr. Nikiforov thought. _If you lose to anyone_ , _I will die._

Still Mr. Katsuki had a troubled air about him so Mr. Nikiforov sat down at the foot of the bed and sang softly to him. He sang an old lullaby of the happiness that awaited them both and the wishes he would grant his lover.

As soon as Mr. Katsuki’s eyes closed Mr. Nikiforov returned to his chair and settled into it as comfortably as he could. This time neither man was troubled by dreams.

 

“Yuuri!” a voice called, cutting sharply through the warm daze of sleep. The sound of loud knocking followed.

On the bed, Mr. Katsuki gave a gentle sigh and turned over, continuing to sleep.

Mr. Nikiforov opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Slowly his memories returned to him. He had spent the night in Mr. Katsuki’s chambers! The legendary pilot, so bold the previous night, was suddenly very embarrassed.

“Yuuri!” Mr. Okukawa called once more.

Throwing a quick glance in Mr. Katsuki’s direction, Mr. Nikiforov rose to his feet and walked to the door. Very briefly he entertained the idea of climbing out the balcony, but how would he be sure of finding the right window?

He opened the door with a smile and greeted their visitor. “Good morning, Ms. Okukawa!”

“Oh my!” she exclaimed, one hand rising to her mouth.

Mr. Nikiforov looked back over his shoulder. “Yuuri is still asleep,” he told her. “I would leave him to sleep for another hour. He slept very poorly last night. Good morning.” He walked out, making for his room.

Only once he reached his own door did the meaning of his own words strike him.

He rushed inside, filled with the sudden desire to hide away from prying eyes.

Once inside his room, he passed a mirror and caught sight of his reflection. His clothes were all in disarray and his hair was in a very sorry state indeed. What did Ms. Okukawa think of him now?

 

Ms. Okukawa watched Mr. Katsuki go on sleeping and marvelled at how the shy pilot had succeeded in capturing the heart of the man he admired.

She had read what the newspapers wrote about Mr. Nikiforov. They called him the most eligible bachelor in the country, convinced that no person would ever win his heart, and, yet, her friend – a shy, quiet man who would never do anything scandalous or worthy of the gossip columns – had done just that! How love had changed him!

 _I must keep all this to myself,_ she decided and glanced at the clock on the wall.

How long was she expected to wait like this?

Deciding to give him more time and feeling on the verge of collapsing from hunger, she slipped away to have breakfast alone.

She took her time, enjoying every bite.

As she finished and prepared to rise from her seat to try to wake him up a second time, Mr. Katsuki appeared in the breakfast room with Mr. Nikiforov leaning fondly on his arm. Both men looked very happy.

Ms. Okukawa rose to her feet, wished them both a good morning and left. She had no wish to be a nuisance.

Or, so she told herself, but after circling the inn twice she returned to the breakfast room, asking for more tea.

Word travelled fast and many people had noticed that the legendary pilot found his favourite among the contestants. The French newspapers wrote about love at first sight and of a very passionate affair. A journalist even approached her right before the last portion of the race, but she kept quiet about what she had discovered.

 

Mr. Nikiforov watched Mr. Katsuki repair his aeroplane in preparation for the last leg of the race.

 _Just a little more left,_ he told himself, but his heart refused to listen to him and beat fast in terror. He worried that someone else would win the race. Perhaps, he thought, he could persuade his parents to let him marry Mr. Katsuki even if he lost, but where was the fairness in that? He knew then that he needed Mr. Katsuki to win more than anyone else did.

They had timed each leg of the race and then added the times to find the victor. At the moment Yuri Plisetsky was in the lead with Mr. Katsuki in a close second.

Mr. Nikiforov sighed heavily.

Mr. Katsuki finished his repairs and slipped under the aeroplane to inspect the engine.

 _There is the love of life,_ Mr. Nikiforov thought once Mr. Katsuki climbed out. The pilot walked over to him with a gentle smile on his face. He was covered in grease stains from head to toe.

Mr. Nikiforov stepped closer and wiped his lover’s face clean with his handkerchief. _How long have we known one another?_ he suddenly thought. _And, yet, I am convinced that I have loved you all my life._

“What is the matter?” Mr. Katsuki asked, taking his gloves off.

“I am so happy I met you,” Mr. Nikiforov confessed. “I have never been happier in my life!”

Mr. Katsuki blushed and thanked the man. “You have made me very happy too,” he said.

Mr. Nikiforov took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

For a moment all was silent around them, as if the whole universe had forgotten about their existence.

Someone called out Mr. Nikiforov’s name, breaking the spell. With a great deal of reluctance, Mr. Nikiforov turned to see why they were calling him.

Only then did he remember about his own role in the race and that everyone was waiting for his signal to take to the skies.

He rushed over to the stands they had set up for the occasion. A dozen servants ran out to greet him and help him climb up to a little platform where he would announce the start of the race.

As soon as he got to the top, he turned around and spotted Mr. Katsuki climbing back into his aeroplane. “Good luck,” he whispered and turned to take a flag one of the servants held out to him. “Let the last part of the race… begin!” he shouted, waving it.

He watched the aeroplanes take off. As soon as the last one was up in the air, he climbed down and got inside his personal aeroplane. His parents had insisted he get another pilot to fly it for him and had made them both promise that they would fly slowly, but at least it gave Mr. Nikiforov a chance to oversee the race from up close.

Despite all this, they succeeded in catching up with the pilots who were in the middle of the group. Mr. Nikiforov barely spared any of them a glance, his eyes seeking his lover’s aeroplane in the distance.

“Sir,” the pilot spoke up, “I recommend we land and take a motor from here.”

Mr. Nikiforov nodded silently. He suppressed the urge to tell the man what he thought about pilots who were willing to leave their aeroplane for an automobile. He remained silent throughout the slow and very cautious landing and even said nothing when the man left to be replaced by Mr. Nikiforov’s private chauffeur.

The pilots flew over the road to Paris using it as their guide (or tried to, at the very least), making it easy for Mr. Nikiforov to see each contestant as he overtook them. For a while, Mr. Nikiforov had the great joy of being directly under Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane. He wished he could call out, but he knew that only a miracle would carry his voice that far.

Before long his car overtook even Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane and Mr. Nikiforov turned around in his seat, determined to go on watching Mr. Katsuki until he disappeared from view.

It surprised him to see how much faster an automobile was than an aeroplane and he promised himself to make one that would go faster than all other modes of transportation. Before long he lost himself entirely in a fantasy where he and Mr. Katsuki built hundreds of aeroplanes together. It was a very pleasant fantasy, which made returning to the real world very difficult.

They reached one of the gates leading into Paris, which they had chosen as the finish line for the race, and stopped.

Mr. Nikiforov climbed out of the automobile and walked around to stretch his legs.

The noise and bustle of a big city filled the air: people shouting, horses and carriages making their way down the streets, merchants advertising their wares. It was a maddening cacophony of all manner of sounds and, yet, to Mr. Nikiforov the world was silent.

The skies remained empty. Not a single aeroplane engine filled the air with its noise.

How much longer would he have to wait? This was the third time he asked himself that question and he was sure that this time he was in more agony than ever before.

He paced by the automobile, knowing his fate was being decided in that moment and completely unable to do a thing to change it.

He raised his eyes to the sky, joined his hands and whispered a prayer that Mr. Katsuki would come first.

The wait dragged on forever until he began to think that it would never leave, that he would always be waiting, unable to do anything else.

He began to make promises. If Mr. Katsuki came first, he would build a new church. If he could marry Mr. Katsuki, he would be the happiest man in the world and he would never complain about anything ever again.

A sound brought him out of his thoughts. He motioned for his chauffeur to prepare to write and produced his pocket watch.

Two aeroplanes were coming towards them with many more in their wake. He recognized one as that belonging to Mr. Katsuki. The other one had something waspish about its appearance, but he barely spared it a second glance, fixing his attention instead on the first.

Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane was moving faster. No, he told himself, it was just his imagination and hope trying to deceive him.

Remembering about his telescope, he took it out and studied the two aeroplanes. It was true: Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane really was moving faster.

They were getting close now. He lowered his telescope.

“Sir?” the chauffeur prompted him.

He realized he had put his pocket watch away and got it back out, hurrying to catch the right moment. He read out Mr. Katsuki’s time, knowing he had inadvertently added several seconds to it. The second aeroplane crossed the finish line and he read out its time. After that it mattered very little to him who came next.

He stared at the two times his chauffeur had written down.

After his parents had told him about their idea, he had spent a long time planning for the race. They thought his method of adding the times would give many errors and he had spent a great deal of effort trying to convince them that he would do his best to be as accurate as possible. Now it occurred to him that while he had spent all that time worrying about all the forces around him deciding the outcome of the race he may have, by complete accident, taken first place from Mr. Katsuki by his own error.

There were a minute and fifteen seconds between the two times his chauffeur had written down. When added to their other times, Mr. Katsuki had won by a mere two seconds.

Mr. Nikiforov went on staring at the times in disbelief. His lover had won!

Then, remembering himself, he raised his eyes to watch other aeroplanes go by. His gaze passed over all of them to Mr. Katsuki’s aeroplane in the distance. As soon as he spotted it, he made a run for it, not caring what anyone would say to him afterwards.

 

Mr. Katsuki climbed out of his aeroplane, his mind full of plans for repairs. There was another hole in the wing, but he had noticed it with the finish line already in sight.

“Hey!” a voice called and he turned to see a young man storm over to him. His face was twisted in anger. Mr. Katsuki braced himself.

“Yuri Plisetsky,” the man introduced himself and held out his hand. “You beat me, but I promise that next time I will win!”

It came as news to Mr. Katsuki that there would be a next time, but he took the offered hand and give it a gentle shake nonetheless. “Yuuri Katsuki,” he introduced himself.

“Are you really Victor’s fiancé?” Mr. Plisetsky asked.

“Fiancé?” Mr. Katsuki repeated, feeling the blood rise to his face. “Why do you say that?”

“Because that is the only thing anyone talks about anymore,” Mr. Plisetsky answered with a note of disapproval in his voice.

Mr. Katsuki prepared to say that no, he and Mr. Nikiforov were not engaged when he spotted the man in question rushing towards them. As always, he was all dressed in white. He held his big hat down to his head, doing his best to keep it from flying away.

He noticed that they were looking his way and stopped to adjust his clothing before continuing at a more sedate pace.

The wind picked up, then tore the hat from his head and flung it towards them. Mr. Katsuki reached out and caught it. He held it out to Mr. Nikiforov.

The legendary pilot joined them with a smile. “Yuuri!” he exclaimed, putting a hand over Mr. Katsuki’s as if he didn’t notice the hat. “Yuuri, I love you!”

Mr. Katsuki’s mouth opened in surprise. Unable to think of a suitable reply, he asked the question that had been on his mind for a while. “Did I win?”

“Oh, Yuuri!” Mr. Nikiforov laughed. “Of course you did!” he exclaimed and leaned forward to catch a kiss.

The fortunate (or, perhaps, unfortunate) Mr. Katsuki wasn’t prepared for this and didn’t know how to react.

Other pilots arrived then, gathering around the two lovers. Some shouted words of encouragement while others complained to one another about improper behaviour.

Perhaps this was the reason why Mr. Katsuki came to his senses, put his free arm around Mr. Nikiforov and pulled him closer.

“I see Yuuri has already claimed his prize,” Ms. Okukawa said, arriving at the happy scene with the Baron and Baroness at her side. For the briefest moment she worried they would interfere, but they kept to their roles as spectators.

The Baroness gave her husband a fond smile, putting one arm around his. “There is no doubt about it – the race was definitely a big success.”

“Shall we organize another one?” the Baron asked, raising one of her hands to his lips.

“Perhaps,” she said, eyes still on her son. “I think I would very much like to visit Tokyo.”

The Baron nodded in understanding.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos and comments! And a big thank you to arariren for the lovely art!! Which you can also see on its own [here](http://arariren.tumblr.com/post/179397352599/those-magnificent-men-in-their-flying-machines)!
> 
> For anyone who thinks it’s a little odd that cars are faster than airplanes in this fic: in 1910 cars were a bit faster than airplanes (or so my research tells me, if that’s actually wrong, then I apologize).
> 
> And because I now have it stuck in my head, [here is the song from the movie](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UPgS26ZhqZs).


End file.
